What Do You Dream?
The exuberant crowd of Vraska townsfolk could be easily heard from the outside of the Golden Shower. Rain fell, as it rarely did, heavily down upon the open cobblestone streets in a constant assault. A gauntleted hand stretched outward as if to feel for the falling liquid, its owner staring forward as the wooden material of the armor repelled the onslaught to the best of its ability. He then leaned back on the bench, resting his head on the wall of that popular inn. Amber eyes fell upon the mug in the figure's other hand once more and he moved to raise it to his lips. The cloaked figure was absolutely silent as she slid up to stand behind the armored man. The cloak was made of slight material that glistened darkly in the rain, even as it warded the wet from seeping through to the figure beneath. The hood fell low, hiding the face of the figure who stood slight as a shadow. When she spoke, it was with a soft, cool voice could bring to mind visions of a heated encounter between silken sheets as easily as it could draw up the image of cold, steel blade. "Long time, no see... Captain." James lowered his mug, settling the wooden container beside him. For a moment, the fingers of his right hand could be seen twitching toward the hilt of his black blade. But that motion subsided as quickly as it came. "Perhaps longer than I'd like, though now that I think of it more perhaps not." Those amber eyes closed as he seemed to focus on her voice alongside the subtle release of a held breath. For a long moment, the woman known only as Sparrow did not speak. She stared past James out into the city, through the rain, her expression inscrutable in the deep hood of her cloak. She made no move, and even her breath was silent. Finally, she tilted her head. "And here we are, once more. Where it began. For us, anyway." "At odds with each other? Typical, I find." A hand moved to check on something in a leather pouch at his side, then retreated once satisfied. "That's almost poetic, at least for the Marches." The Death Knell stood up, but still did not glance back at the woman. But the sound of her voice raised a corner of his mouth into what could have been the humble beginnings of a smile. "Fuck the Marches," the woman muttered, her tone a grumble as she raised a hand to wave it dismissively. Lowering her hand again, she sighed. "Why are you here, James?" "To fix problems and make money doing so. That is the idea, anyway." He then turned to look back at her, his eyes opening to take in her appearance at long last. Another subtle movement from his right hand, though it was toward her this time. Again it ended as quickly as it came. "And why are you?' Sparrow remained still for another long moment before finally reaching up to push her cowl back, revealing a narrow face with sharp cheekbones, fair skin and bright blue eyes, framed by short-cropped white hair. "In time, all things come full circle." Looking past James, Sparrow let her gaze scan the streets beyond. "For you. For me. For... others. I have unfinished business here." "Have you ever thought of retiring? I've heard Ostmahn is nice this season." *He took her in, restraining the evolution his smile by forcing on a neutral expression. "Cryptic as you are infuriating, I shouldn't be surprised." "Would you mind elaborating, my ever elusive Sparrow? I have difficulty reading the tea leaves." His eyes turned shifted toward the door and its unwanted noises. Sparrow frowned slightly, her brows furrowing. Once more, she glanced past James, then shook her head. "I am not free to choose my path. We all have strings, do we not?" She glanced pointedly at James' armor. "For me, it is time to cut my strings." As casual as her words were, her eyes had gone hard at the mention of severing ties. It wasn't hard to imagine how exactly she planned to do so. "Some of our strings are like spider webs, all attached to many places." James met her gaze at that, though the rest of his body remained unmoving. "Sacrifice has been an abundant subject these past few months. Are you sure you are willing to make such sacrifices?" Sparrow let out a soft, melodious laugh and shrugged. "If you cage and starve a lion, can you accuse it of sacrifice, of cruelty, when it turns on its masters?" "I suppose not. Though that is the benefit of not being an animal, Sparrow." Raising his mug to his lips again, he let the hard alcohol slip into his body. Admittedly, the grip the armor had taken on him had decreased many earthly pleasures, even this particular poison. "Though I've seen much more than animalistic instincts in this lioness." Another loud rattle from a scuffle inside, and yet another loud cheer radiating soon after. It drew his attention for but a moment, but then his eyes returned to stare down at her. There was some emotion hidden within that stare, albeit buried beneath a certain amount of poor subterfuge. Sparrow's grin was a quick flash. "And you? What would you do for a chance to step outside your wooden skin? To be free to enjoy the pleasures of... flesh... once more?" His eyes darted between the two of hers, as if searching for something particular. Then, without another thought, they looked back down toward his tankard of ale. "There is, perhaps, one thing I could be convinced to return to. Though you are mistaken, Sparrow. Death has not taken all it is capable of asking for yet." Another long drink of the alcohol. Sparrow rolled her eyes and turned away. "If you say so. But you know as well as I that there are innumerable things worse than death." She lifted her cowl and stepped back into a nook near the inn. James could still make out her form in the shadows of oncoming dusk, though she was hard to spot by anyone who didn't know what to look for. His eyes searched for her form with a knowing look to them. "I am very well aware. There are some things you cross entire planes to escape from." "Or retrieve, if you're into that sort of business anyway." "You'd need no hide yourself. There are few who approach me these days, should they recognize the emblem." He motioned toward the Death Knell symbol inscribed on both shoulder plates. "Despite what you may think, Sparrow, there is safety here." Despite the raised cowl, James could sense Sparrow's eyes dropping to the symbol. "That, dear captain, is where you are wrong. The Guild is here. Wherever they skulk, undermining the world like termites in the foundation, there is no safety." "The Guild? Powerful folk in the Marches, no?" A frown came to him then, eyes turned to look out at the empty street. "I can imagine that those strings are difficult to cut." Again he checked that leather pouch at his side. Fingertips worked at the leather clasp that held it together, eyes glancing down at the swirling wisps of light that flew inside the little glass bulb. "Consumed by murderous intent, then? Thievery suits you, perhaps not murder." Even in the shadows, James could see Sparrow's eyes flash. Faster than most men could blink, the steel dagger flew, skimming past the Death Knell with a breath to spare and embedding itself into the wood of the bench behind James with. "Do not presume to know what I am. I am as the Guild has made me. I am as capable of drawing blood as I am of getting my way with... other methods. I am, first and foremost, an assassin. It is what my dear masters in the Guild need most." "Unfortunately," James could see the glint of steel fly by but the 'good' graces of his benefactor did little for his senses, "you and I know each other very well. Yet hardly at all." Eyes fell back upon the figure, the armored man stepping forward once toward her as if to once again catch her eyes with his. "Now the assassin is trailing after those who trained her? What burns in your heart to drive you to such a daring task, Sparrow?" Sparrow's lips curved up into a smile that could never be called kind. "Freedom. I will be free, James. If I must buy it with blood." She reached out and flicked her fingers and in a blink, the dagger was in her hands once more, blade glistening wet in the rain. "And you? What brings you to this place? There are no masses of undead for you to order around between these walls." His eyes, the only real hint at the small drop of life that lived within James, continually searched for hers. It had been those eyes that had driven him into the abyss in the first place, and perhaps his only window into understanding the woman before him. "The dead do not obey me, they simply stay out of my way." "I am here to stop needless death. I tire of it." The soft laugh that escaped Sparrow at James' words was at once cool and personal. "Isn't that some irony? James Blackwater, unstoppable champion of death... tires." Her lips curved again into a smirk that nevertheless seemed to warm towards the only man who had ever been willing to sacrifice his life for her. She lifted her cool, blue eyes towards his and arched an eyebrow, letting him see into the deep cowl of her protective shadow. "And what would /you/ do, I wonder? If your strings were cut? If you were free to... live?" Her voice had taken on a hint of the seduction that he had heard from her before, but there was also an amusement. She was teasing him. "My strings are who I am, Sparrow." Those eyes drew him as the precious fountains of blue they were. Though his pride forced himself to remain steady, as did the memory of Firewatch. "They are what connect me to this world from the next. To you and the others. It's in my interest to protect those constant anchors." "You chose your cage." The amusement was gone, replaced with the barest hint of disapprove. "Every man has that right." She considered a moment, then nodded. "Choosing to give others power over you must be a right of choice in and of itself. Still, I have to wonder." She hesitated and turned her gaze past James, up towards the overcast sky. "What do you dream, James Blackwater?" "I did choose, yes, you are quite correct." His gaze followed her own to the sky where clouds continued to send down their siege of water. It reminded him of the same clouds above Firewatch, and the chilling memory of all those faces. Again his hand reached down toward the leather pouch, tugging out the snow globe reluctantly. Inside the glass bulb no larger than a fist swirled green lights around a black tower. Every now and then, the lights seemed to take the form of a face that looked questioningly toward the Death Knell before fading off towards the tower. Other faces followed with the same confused expression, disappearing soon after. "There were times... When I dreamed of one. And those thoughts carried me through the darkest of places. Now, however, I find myself thinking only of these people." As her gaze dropped to the snowglobe, Sparrow's expression turned inscrutable, her gaze depthless. She was silent for a long time, and the sound of the rain hitting the cobblestone was counterpoint to the sounds coming from inside the inn. "I once dreamt of what was. I fought for times past." Her gaze went cold as she looked back at James. "Not any more. Now I fight for the future, for what may be. For myself." He set the globe back into the leather pouch, securing it. "And what future is that? Where, exactly, does that leave-" his thought was cut off by a scuffle inside, probably some bar fight. Again his fingers twitched toward the hilt of his blade, slowly relaxing soon after. "It was a good dream." "Ambition leads the two of us in different directions, Sparrow." Stating simply, eyes turned to look at several nearby rats scuttling across the street. Sparrow arched an eyebrow. "Perhaps," she replied, her words slow and musing. "But it sounds to me that you are content to settle." "Part of me, perhaps. But trouble stirs, the boots of thousands marching to take hold of the land. I've a choice to make, yes." The rats seemed to chase each other, one seemingly ruthlessly biting at the next. For some time James watched the two, the frown still lingering on his face. "Firewatch was just the beginning, Sparrow." "Firewatch?" Sparrow tilted her head, the tips of her lips curving up, hinting at her bemusement. "What is that?" "An old thing. Simply a place for men to squabble over power. A particular man has convinced quite a lot of people that his cause is pure and true. An octagonal table of fools." Turning back to look at Sparrow, the expression on his face consumed with conflict. "How far would you go to protect something you love, Sparrow? I am quite curious." The assassin's slight body stiffened and for the second time in a short span, Sparrow's expression went completely blank, inscrutable. "I learned long ago the danger of putting too much value on things... on people," she said, her tone dark and... defensive. That was new. Never before had James seen Sparrow be so... guarded. The man's brow furrowed as he looked down at her, then a short nod came to him. "Ah, yes. Trust is difficult in this place. One could say that the only thing to be trusted is oneself, no?" His eyes did not leave her as they scanned for any hint of emotion in vain. Perhaps it was the lack of any at all that spoke of something. "Risky, yes. But I've found solace in the blinding nature of faith." Sparrow snorted. "I thought so, once." She narrowed her eyes and peered at James. "I hope you do not have to live shackled for as long as I before you learn the truth - that the only person you can ever truly trust... is yourself." "I've been shackled since traveling the lands of the dead." He first considered her as he said that, eyes ripping themselves away from her down to her armor. The protection he had gained was taking his very life bit by bit, a necessary evil. But even these were but bindings of rope compared to the chains that still wrapped tightly around his being. Such things were permanent, he had found. A consequence of those blue eyes, no less. "I've heard many say ignorance is bliss. Damn, I suppose it is." Sparrow let out a wry, breathy laugh. "But knowledge is power - we've heard that, too. And with power, comes the freedom." Suddenly sober, she let out a sigh and shook her head. "Oh, James. Why are you?" "I agree, for once. Power brings the ability to shape the world into what you see fit, or protect those you care for. Both, actually." His eyebrow raised, and he held out a hand to the side openly. "Why am I what, Sparrow?" "Why are you?" Sparrow asked again, and now she looked almost tired as she gazed at him. "Who are you? Why did you..." she trailed off and frowned for a moment, then pursed her lips. "I don't understand you." "I couldn't honestly tell you. Though, I may be able to ask you a similar question. Who are we?" At that, he broke his gaze from her to once again look out the melancholic streets of Vraska. Those streets of murderous intent, secrets, and passion. Sparrow snickers. "We're not heroes, if that's what you mean. But who would want to be?" She followed James' gaze, and sneered. "I'm really not hard to understand. I'll do whatever it takes to earn my freedom, and hopefully come away with power, a pile of coins, and..." she shot James a wicked smile, a flash of the seductress that she had become at some point since their previous parting of ways, at the doors to death, "... and a husband who can support me in the manner in which I would like to become accustomed." Her eyes danced with wicked humor, but it was clear that she wasn't entirely joking. "That's an interesting concept, a hero. A hero for what party? The lands of the marches, a city, king, people, or perhaps a woman? To put forward oneself for something greater. Sacrifice." His tone grew heavy, almost solemn as he stretched his hand out once more to the rain in a doomed attempt to feel its moisture. "Perhaps, with the guidance of that intrepid woman, I could one day sacrifice enough. Enough for one of those goals, Sparrow. But she very well may keep me from such a thing." His eyes moved to a certain part of the street, eyes narrowing for a moment as if seeing someone he detested. Sparrow laughed softly, almost mockingly. "True love? Is that the ultimate goal that drives you on, James? You surprise me." His eyes shifted to her, eyes attempting to hide the passion within through a horrified scowl "I would hardly count myself as one graced by such naive emotions, Sparrow. No, wherever I tread seems to sprout gold like weeds. Call it a professional favor." A flare of green light flickered for but a moment in the man's eyes, his expression contorting into what looked like pain as he turned his face from her. But with the passing few moments, his face seemed to calm as the light dissipated. Sparrow's smile spread into what might almost have been affection. "It's alright, James. Forgive me my... cynicism - it has kept me alive in the past but I know it isn't for everyone. If love is what-" she broke off at the flash of light and in a blink, she was at James side, hand on his forearm. "What is it?" She demanded in a low, serious tone. James felt his body tremble with the call of his patron. It sought the sacrifice he spoke of, life as it was, and as it always would be. Everything was the answer to a question asked so long ago; there was only one thing keeping him from becoming the Death they all wanted He set his hand on her own, the wooden fingertips sliding against the soft skin of her own. "My decision. The end of an argument... It is who I will become, what I will sacrifice, for the promise of what neither of us believe in. But, faith is blind.” His hand caressed her hand, gripping it for a moment as if not wishing to let go. And then, he simply did. Stepping away from her, he inclined his head. Sparrow frowned, brows burrowing, her eyes cool. "What would you give, James Blackwater," she asked in a low voice, "for that promise?" "Everything." He raised his eyes to her, brunette hair dangling to either side of face. "I would give everything it would take." The flash of anger was bright in Sparrow's eyes. "Then why are you settling for less? If it's what you want, damnit, go out and get it." That, at least, she could relate to. "If that is what it takes, then yes, my Sparrow, that is what I shall do." He regarded her with another solemn look, eyes searching for those deep pools of blue that he had yearned for, then set off into the wet, empty, and rather dangerous streets of Vraska. Category:West Marches 2 Category:RP Logs